


At Least

by explodingnebulae



Category: BioShock Infinite
Genre: Canon Dialogue, F/M, First Kiss, Is it incest if they don't know they're related?, Pseudo-Incest, in-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26500792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/explodingnebulae/pseuds/explodingnebulae
Summary: "What you've been through...Ain't nobody deserve that."Booker and Elizabeth take a moment to rest before returning to Comstock's Manor.
Relationships: Booker DeWitt & Elizabeth, Booker DeWitt/Elizabeth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	At Least

She wanders inside of a ruined art studio and he follows her, his senses on high alert for any sign of danger. The inside is in shambles, a mess of canvas, paint, brick, and concrete. Broken wooden planks are scattered across the floor, but she navigates them with ease. She settles herself against the desk in front of them and crosses her arms over her chest.

“I’m not even his daughter. I’m just some,” she blurts out unexpectedly, her voice drowning in anger and confusion. Booker watches as she struggles to find the words in the clouded storm of her mind, “...specimen to be poked and prodded.”

Booker cannot help the knot that forms in the pit of his belly as he moves closer to the detritus-covered desk she leans against. Her doe eyes, so damnably and wonderfully blue, are fixed to the ground and he knows she’s fighting herself the same way she has been since he burst into her life. He needs to do something, say something, anything. 

The truth would do. When he starts speaking, he hardly recognizes the tender note that cushions his words. It’s something that has only ever happened twice in his life. 

“No, you’re not. Elizabeth, listen to me,” he entreats as he stands before her. The palm of his hand itches to be placed upon her cheek, to wrap her in his arms. “What you’ve been through… Ain’t nobody in the world deserve that.”

Elizabeth looks up at last and Booker can see the glassy haze over her eyes. She’s exhausted, confused, frightened, and right now, he’s all she’s got. 

“Booker--” 

He raises his hand against his better judgment, caresses her face, and brushes her cheek with his thumb. She need not protest. She need not doubt him. He had set off on this journey initially to settle a debt. But he didn’t care about that anymore. Debts be damned, crimes be laid bare. She was his priority. Her safety, her comfort.

“We are gettin’ outta here, you got it?” Dull hope flickers behind her eyes as she holds his hand in place, nuzzling into the calloused warmth of his palm. “And you’re never gonna have to look back.”

They were in the middle of a warzone, yet the way she looked at him then… 

Booker takes a step closer, his hand sweeping under her jaw to tilt her head with his finger just enough for her to gaze upon him. He swallows to silence the voice screaming in his head, demanding that he stop at once. His morality was always easy to mute, and this was no exception. 

“Booker…” she repeats, softer than before, and reaches for his face. The fear in her eyes changes for a moment as she rests her fingers against his stubble. The coolness of her thimble-bearing finger is different, but he doesn’t mind. 

“What you asked earlier…” To kill her in exchange for clipped wings. He never gave his word, but he would do everything before allowing her to be locked away again. She marveled at freedom, at beauty, at simplicity. 

“I don’t want to talk about that now,” she objects with a quiet sternness. 

“Elizabeth, I’m not gonna let it come to that. I’m gettin’ you out and you’re gonna see Paris,” he murmurs and slowly leans closer. Booker won’t push himself on her, but how he feels when she looks at him that way… He has to know if it’s mutual, has to know if she’s even curious.

“Please don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Her voice is but a whisper now as her words melt in hot breath against his face. He glances to her lips as she speaks, watching the supple flesh bend with every word, and finds that he’s stopped breathing altogether. 

“Elizabeth…” 

His forehead rests against hers, his eyes closing as he nestles his fingers into her choppy brunette locks. She’s responsive and in the way he had been hoping for. With nothing but ruin and death around them, they find a moment of solace, of comfort, as she laces her fingers together behind his neck. 

“Kiss me, Mr. Dewitt. If anything goes wrong… I at least want to have that.”

His skin prickles as she says his surname, but not with the annoyance he felt the first hundred times she said it in their short time together. Booker lifts his head from hers and looks down at her to get the final confirmation from her before leaning in. 

He takes her lips with a slow tenderness he’s unaccustomed to, having a certainty that he’s her first kiss. There’s a hunger inside of him that wants him to dig further, to take all of her firsts and all of her lasts. He hadn’t felt that way since…

_No, he can’t think of them._

Elizabeth molds her mouth against his, pressing into him with an uncertain and awkward pressure. He smirks against her lips and takes the liberty of nipping her bottom lip before he pulls his head back. 

“Never done this before, have you?” 

“Was it bad?” she inquires with a note of embarrassment. “I have not, and I wanted t--”

“Hey, calm down. Lemme show you.” Booker finds himself smiling for the first time since he came to this hell in the clouds. He shifts closer, takes her cheek in his hand while his other settles at her waist. “Follow my lead.”

He takes her bottom lip in a smooth motion, kissing her as he would any woman. However, there is an attentiveness that is entirely for her, slow and directional without speaking. And Elizabeth catches on quicker than he anticipates. A small hand settles against his chest while the other scratches against his neck.

It’s a request for something more, something more involved, and he gives it to her. His tongue slides into her mouth, sampling the warmth as they keep their rhythm, and she lets out a satisfied hum.

He reaches behind her, then, and blindly pushes paint cans to the floor before easily lifting her into the air and setting her on the desk in place of the cans. Never does he leave her lips. Especially not since she picked up on how to move her tongue along with his.

They kiss in perfect tandem and Booker does his best to ignore the twinges in his groin, not daring to play with the idea of stripping Elizabeth’s virginity during her first kiss. He tries to tuck the thought away, failing more than not as her dress hikes up and he settles between her legs. 

“Booker,” she breathes as they separate, her voice somewhat rough from her new experience. She looks up at him with something that he does not and will not give words to. Not so soon, not now, not here. She’s not allowed to want him. “What if this is it?”

“It isn’t,” he says assuredly. What he doesn’t say, is that it isn’t _for her._ He’s been through some shit before, but this… Ghosts, Songbird, Comstock’s cult, the _Vox Populi_ … 

He’s confident she’ll come out of this on the surface below, on Earth, where she belongs. There’s nothing he won’t do to ensure that now, even if it means his life is the cost. He’s been a killer long enough to know that everyone has a date with Death whether they want it or not. His luck would run out eventually. 

But not before Elizabeth is safe. 

He takes a step back and gives a breath as he pretends not to notice the way her chest is rising and falling or the way she’s biting the inside of her lip. “We should get back to Comstock’s manor.” 

There’s a moment of silence between them before Elizabeth holds to his scarlet bandanna and pulls him closer. He returns to her lips before she has to ask, doing away with caution and ease. If this is the first and last time he gets to have a moment like this, he’s not going to squander it with gentility.

Booker returns to her with a step forward and holds her as tightly to him as he can, until they’re a unit of gnashing lips and tongue and teeth. He feels drunk as her kiss buzzes along his lips, as he drinks in her breath, as he steals into her mouth. The world was falling from the sky around them, and he cared for naught but her kiss. Only when she grabs at his belt does he focus on something other than those lips.

“No,” he growls and seizes her wrist, ignoring the tightness within his slacks.

“Booker...please…” Elizabeth pants out between the haphazard rhythm of their lips. 

“No,” he repeats more firmly, knowing that she is still riding the waves of uncertainty and anger over Comstock’s abuse and lies. She’s vulnerable and he will not take advantage of that, no matter how beautiful she is, no matter how hard he is, no matter how much they both want to… 

“Why?” 

He pulls from the kiss, his lips sore, and releases her wrist. “This isn’t the right place or time.” 

“Nothing about any of this is right,” she returns and rests her hands in her lap.

Elizabeth is right. Nothing is as it should be. They’ve jumped through realities, altered timelines, messed with space and time. But her words only solidified his questionable resolve. 

“I know,” he sighs in agreement, but doesn’t act in her direction. Booker takes a step back to give her room to move. “But right now we gotta focus on gettin’ you as far away from this mess as possible.”

She slides down from the desk and gives a nod as she fixes her dress. He can tell she’s disappointed, but she’ll get over it. They have a task, hopefully a final push, and then Elizabeth would be free. 

“Hey,” she starts as they turn to leave the building.

“Hmm?” 

“Thanks for…”

“Don’t mention it,” he picks up as she trails into silence. 

Booker decides then that if he makes it through this, he’ll take her to Paris first. He’ll watch as she marvels over something she’s longed for. No one would get her in a trade for any deal. His debts are his, and she is her own person, never to be caged again. If she's still curious after the debris is cleared, if she still wants to explore that route, he won't stop her. He'll have her overlooking the Parisian streets as he claims her as his. And he'll be listening to all the pretty sounds he can only imagine that will come from her mouth. 

All they have to do is make it down to the surface, and he would get them there.

Hopefully.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so let me EXPLAIN MYSELF. I really ship bookerbeth. That's it. That's me explaining it.


End file.
